


A Tutorial in Tolerance

by 3musketears



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Awkwardness, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Goro Big Bang 2020, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3musketears/pseuds/3musketears
Summary: Dating Kurusu Akira means that Akechi Goro finds himself in Sakura Futaba’s presence a lot. Her aversion to him is well-deserved, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling awful whenever the sight of him sucks the joy out of her. Akira seems to think of their romance as a long term thing, so perhaps it would be imperative for Goro to at least attempt civility, or even form a truce with her.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Sakura Futaba, Akechi Goro & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Sakura Futaba/Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 147
Collections: Goro Big Bang 2020





	A Tutorial in Tolerance

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Goro Big Bang 2020! My partner for this project was [Chris!](https://twitter.com/chrispykrem_art) Go check out his amazing art!
> 
> And thank you to [Pen](https://twitter.com/penthedragon?lang=en) for being my beta! 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was nothing sort of a miracle that Goro was still welcomed at Leblanc after everything that happened. His direct involvement in the death of Ishiki Wakaba was more than enough justification for Sakura Sojiro to ban him from the cozy cafe for good. Goro wouldn’t put up a fight if Sojiro ever decided to. He’d never set foot in Yongen-Jaya again. Perhaps he’d even flee Tokyo altogether.

Despite all the reasons Sojiro had to file a hard restraining order, he continued to let Goro take a seat at the counter. It was tempting to ask how the Chief could stand to even look at Goro knowing what he did to the brilliant woman Sojiro loved.

Akira made a deal with him. If Goro stopped seeking out opportunities to make himself upset, then Akira would stop taking full responsibility for other people’s problems. There was no possible way to track it aside from trusting each other’s word. It was a lot to ask on both ends, but Goro refused to be the first one to fold.

Which left him with no choice but to accept Sojiro’s hospitality.

Visits to Leblanc had become a part of his regular schedule. Just as he ate, slept, and did his school work (though two of those were a bit inconsistent), he sought refuge at the cafe. The regulars— few as there were— paid no attention to him, too absorbed in their own lives and the news. Goro preferred it that way.

He softly thanked Sojiro for the cup and opened up his book. To fulfill his general education requirements, he’d decided to take an elective course on literary analysis. As a child, storytelling as an art form had piqued his interest, so he thought revisiting it might at least remind him of that long-lost innocence.

Before his next class, he had to complete this reading on basic symbolism and take thorough notes. Goro clicked his blue pen and started to read.

_Some examples of symbolism may seem obvious. Light symbolizes goodness, darkness symbolizes evil. But as you embark on your literary journey, you’ll find a multitude of more nuanced archetypal symbols that can be interpreted differently given the context. Even the basics of light and dark can be inverted to fit a certain lesson, such as that of perceived goodness v.s. true goodness._

Thinking back on how Goro’s princely attire looked next to Joker’s roguish garb, that sounded about right. He skimmed past a few more basics until he landed on something he didn’t know.

 _Any long, tall object such as a skyscraper is an example of phallic imagery, meant to represent masculinity_. _**Phallic** means relating to male genitalia_. _Figure 1.2a shows a comparison of a penis and a generic sword._

At that point, Goro found himself unable to pay attention to the words on the page anymore and instead tuned in to the television.

“Some of you may recall Wild Duck Burger coming under fire last year after an employee posted photos of himself naked while on the job,” the reporter said. Goro certainly remembered the utter confusion he felt when he’d heard the news. He’d expected something more violent to come from the psychotic breakdown, such as a fire. In a way, this pettier scandal had been a merciful relief. “Almost a year after the incident, the business is finally starting to recover from the effects of the bad press. The chain as a whole did see a spike in business after the death of the late CEO of Okumura Foods— the company behind the fast-food sensation Big Bang Burger, which had begun branching out internationally before the controversy. Reportedly, such plans have been canceled as the company’s young heiress prepares to take Okumura Foods in a completely new direction.”

A loud _bang_ startled Goro and made him spill hot coffee on his arm, likely singeing the tiny hairs right off of it. Goro slid his chair back to go get some napkins before this incident created a new addition to his scar collection. He found himself frozen in place as the cause of the racket announced its presence.

“SOJIRO! I RETURN FROM MY CONQUEST AT LAST!” If the voice did not give away the person’s identity, the language would certainly indicate that it was Sakura Futaba, likely back from doing a completely mundane task. Goro turned his head to confirm that it was indeed her, holding a pair of headphones with cat ears above her head and beaming with pride.

All that boundless joy was sucked right out of her when she met Goro’s eyes. He swallowed. Her arms slowly fell and she shuffled into the booth closest to the door, folding herself like a little hermit crab.

Right behind her was Akira, who patted Futaba’s head before sliding into the seat next to Goro. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Akira said, “the lines were a bit longer than I thought they were gonna be.”

He leaned over to kiss Goro’s cheek, so of course, Goro had to forgive him now. “An adequate apology. I accept.”

Seemingly able to read his mind, Akira reached over the counter to grab a napkin and wipe off Goro’s arm. Even though the coffee was hot, Goro found himself shivering a bit. His arm was still a bit red when Akira was done, but it didn’t look like there’d be anything permanent.

In his peripheral vision, Goro saw Futaba take out a handheld gaming console and start playing. The cat headphones remained on the table unopened.

Akira regaled Goro with the story of his shopping adventure in Akihabara. “I was originally going to try and find a cheap air conditioner for Leblanc. It was stinking hot last summer, and I don’t think Boss wants Ryuji trying to hide in the fridge again,” Akira explained. 

Goro really did try to listen as Akira regaled him with the tale of how he ran into Futaba and she ordered him to give her a piggyback ride. Given how often Akira took on the listening role while everyone else and their mother (if said mother was alive) talked his ear off, Goro normally treasured the opportunity to switch places and see what was on his boyfriend’s mind.

Yet he found himself unable to remain in the moment. The news broadcast, Futaba, and his beloved rival formed a triangle around him. A lopsided and wonky triangle, but the effect was the same nonetheless. From every angle, his crimes surrounded him. 

One psychotic breakdown, one mental shutdown, and one loaded gun.

“I remember you saying last year that you don’t do well in the heat,” Akira said. “Would you want me to come over to your place and help you install an air conditioner?”

“Sure.” Whether by undeserved mercy or the passage of time, two of the incidents had found a resolution. One remained, tucked away in her shell with a screen in front of her eyes.

x

The pocket-sized calendar/planner on Goro’s kitchen table was covered in a messy scrawl detailing the exact plan for completing all of his work. From 3:42 PM to 5:17 PM every other day he’d been compiling sources and creating an outline for his research paper. He’d made note of a potential bathroom break from 4:34 PM to 4:37 PM, but he had yet to use it.

Had it been any other subject matter, Goro would have used those precious three minutes to stretch out his fingers and walk around a bit. But he was in deep. The string of serial murders in Inaba— famously investigated by Shirogane Naoto, the original detective prince— was just too perfect of a topic for him to give anything less than 250%.

With three days left until the deadline, Goro had already written about half of the paper. He never handed in low quality work, but this would be his magnum opus. A paper so nuanced and thorough that his professor would have to invent a new grading scale to categorize it.

Goro was just getting to the juiciest part: the reveal of the culprit. His gloved fingers plucked at the keys in preparation of revealing the incredible plot twist that made many citizens question what they knew about the inner workings of society. That dastardly figure was-

The screen froze.

In shock, Goro blinked at it a few times. He started repeatedly jamming the “s” key in hopes of shattering the ice. Not even a dent.

“Fuck,” Goro whispered. “I’m totally fucked.” His roomba bumped into a wall and whirred in agreement despite not being sentient. “Thank you for understanding my pain, Roomba-san.” Goro grabbed his keys and left the house.

The doors to Akihabara’s computer repair shop burst open from the sheer amount of rage rolling off of Goro. He stormed across the threshold and made a beeline for the counter. The employee stationed there swallowed thickly. “H-how may I help you, sir?”

Goro shoved his computer in the guy’s face. “Fix this.”

After a moment, the employee meekly replied, “Let me take it to the back and we’ll see how long this repair is going to take. We are quite busy this time of year since a lot of people are letting their computers overheat.”

The employee rushed to the back like Goro’s horrible energy was contagious. His previous interaction with Futaba certainly pointed to that being true. 

If the stupidity of people who let their computers overheat was going to be what impeded his academic progress, Goro was going to produce a scream that would shatter all the screens and windows in this fucking place, and then no one would have a working computer. It only seemed fair that if he had to suffer the consequences of their foolishness, then they had to suffer the consequences of his wrath.

Just as Goro was starting to burn through the counter with the heat of his eyes, the employee returned carrying Goro’s laptop in one hand and wiping his other hand on his uniform. His forehead shone under the fluorescent lights.

“We can have your computer completely fixed in four days,” the employee said with a cracking smile.

The paper was due in three.

This establishment better hope that their windows are ensured.

“Hm. Unacceptable. Good day.” Goro snatched his laptop back and exited with even more rage burning within him than he’d had when he arrived.

While that fire outwardly presented itself as a permanent scowl and tense fists, inside it set off blaring alarms that warned of impending doom. Even worse, they foretold complete and utter failure. Failure in any form made Goro freeze up, stuck in place while the world he’d built up burned to the ground. His reputation reduced to ashes.

He was fully ready to have a private panic attack in the privacy of his home where only Roomba-san could judge him. Until he passed by the arcade.

For someone who squirmed under the scrutiny of others, Futaba had certainly made herself easy to spot with her bright orange hair. The only other people Goro had seen sporting such a distinct hair color were idols. And that head of hair was in the window of the Gigolo arcade.

The original plan devised by Shido had been for the false Medjed to stage their own defeat so the Phantom Thieves would rise in popularity, which would in turn make the downfall of the vigilante group with Okumura even more drastic. It had been quite the shocker to find that someone using the Phantom Thieves logo had taken down the hacktivist group singlehandedly. In only one day too.

To say Sakura Futaba was skilled with technology would be a grave understatement. Goro had certainly underestimated her, being disarmed by her apparent quirkiness and allowing a renowned hacker to look at his phone. What a fool he’d been.

Not to mention she’d been able to make her own laptop work as normal within the Metaverse. And she wouldn’t be backloaded with cases of idiots letting their thousand dollar contraptions sit in the blazing Tokyo sun.

Now to find a flimsy but acceptable excuse for a known killjoy like him to be in an arcade.

He’d had fun playing a shooting simulator with Akira before, but playing a competitive game alone seemed rather pathetic. Saying he was using it for shooting practice would be absolutely terrifying and make her want to very much get the fuck away from him.

His mind drifted to Akira, the one person too foolish to flee despite the warning signs. While misplaced, Goro supposed that loyalty was worthy of a reward. And giving gifts was common for individuals in a romantic relationship.

One of the machines contained what seemed to be a goth version of a mascot plushie Goro recognized from Akira’s shelves. The large box was full of them, all waiting for some lucky bastard to take them home.

Goro didn’t understand the appeal. Plushes were designed to be a toy and provide comfort to small children. He’d owned one himself at some point, a blanket-like form with the benign face of a peaceful bunny. While the fabric had worn with age, it always remained soft and soothing.

Some of the toys on Akira’s shelf retained this quality, but others were cheaply made and somewhat misshapen. How Akira saw value in such items was a mystery.

Regardless, it was not difficult to picture one of the little fellows beyond the glass wall joining the merry band of misfits lined up on Akira’s desk.

Upon entering the arcade, Goro’s immediate reaction was to wince. Every individual game had a loud, energized, electronic soundtrack blasting through the speakers and there wasn’t enough distance between the machines to avoid said tracks overlapping. Previously pleasant chords clashed to create eldritch entities that not even the most skilled musical theorists would be able to properly name.

As he approached his black and purple prize, Goro kept reminding himself what he was here for. He could stand a little noise for his grades and his boyfriend. There was no other option he could think of.

He spotted Futaba examining the console of a game with some sort of elevated foot pad attached to it but elected not to approach her. For him to disturb her here in her realm would be like if Shido had suddenly started regularly visiting Jazz Jin or Leblanc. The mere thought chewed at Goro’s stomach lining.

Perhaps the comparison wasn’t wholly accurate. Most people saw their safe space as their bedroom. For Futaba— a former shut-in— that sentiment would only be stronger. Alien worlds occupied by alien people could never be a home to her.

Goro’s bedroom was just a storage room where he dumped out all the accumulated misery. Thus why he relied on cozy places where the atmosphere wasn’t suffocating him.

Every once in a while Futaba would glance at the cluster of pre-pubescent boys all sneezing on each other by the _Gun About_ console. Alien people indeed, shouting synonyms for urine and feces until their little lungs exploded.

While each new word left Goro torn between internally congratulating their varied vocabulary and storming over there to teach them some real insults to make their enemies weep, their presence ended up working to his advantage. They successfully repelled Futaba away from the popular games and towards the claw machines where Goro was on his fourth try.

Her reflection appeared in the glass next to his while the flimsy claw missed the plush by just a hair. Goro was considering punching through the glass, leaving money at the door, and taking the plush home. These games were fucking rigged. How did Akira ever win anything here?

On second thought, Goro knew the answer to that question. Akira was perfect and had many very random skills that Goro lacked.

“Do you have any tips to offer, Futaba-chan, or is it simply amusing to watch me fail?” Goro asked without looking back at her.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I was just looking at the plushies.”

Just as he’d planned, the plushies were his opening. “They’re rather charming, aren’t they? I’m not particularly interested in them myself, but I can see why some may find them appealing.”

Futaba just nodded and watched him put another coin in the machine. Except he dropped his wallet on the floor where it landed next to his busted laptop. In his anger, he had neglected to put it back in his briefcase where it would be safe. 

While she did not outright ask why his computer was sitting on the floor, vulnerable and exposed to the stray sneakers of excitable children, Futaba did take notice of it. Excellent. 

Goro crouched down to retrieve his wallet but also took the chance to open his computer and see if the screen had started working. All his keyboard smashing and mousepad wiggling were for naught. He was tempted to snap it clean in half over his knee, but he doubted even Futaba could save it in such a state. At least not in the time frame he needed.

“I could fix that for you,” Futaba blurted out. She bit her lip in a belated attempt to build a makeshift dam for the flow of words.

Carefully, Goro turned around just enough to face her. If he were to appear too excited by this development, it would be revealed that the Black Frost plushies were a calculated ploy. She had a good deal of experience seeing through his schemes. “If it’s not a bother, that would be much appreciated,” Goro replied, “How much would I need to pay you?”

She walked closer to the claw machine and motioned for him to move aside. The claw moved with ease under her control, clearly aided by plenty of training on a multitude of brightly colored battlefields. A Black Frost doll with a slightly asymmetrical head rose from the crowd of his not-quite-identical brothers. Goro was tempted to perform plushie acupuncture and fix the head himself before presenting the gift to Akira.

“Step one is letting me end your suffering,” Futaba said. “Watching you fail was kinda painful. As for step two…” The plush was released to the mercy of gravity and sent falling down a tunnel. “Maybe I’ll consider deleting some of my blackmail.”

The plush that was waiting in the compartment for Goro had an evil-looking smile. Futaba was twinning with it. “What _kind_ of blackmail,” Goro said.

"Your search history," Futaba responded with the cheeky nonchalance she typically reserved for her actual friends. Perhaps the shift in attitude was due to the abundance of leverage she now held over him. Both his academics and his data were held between her fingers. She could suffocate both with just a small squeeze.

Besides the actual criminal offenses, he couldn't think of anything in his search history that was overly incriminating. At least not anything that he didn't already present outwardly, such as his so-called "grandpa fashion" as Akira often called it with a wink followed by a kiss to keep Goro from strangling him. His recent history would only comprise his research anyway, it'd been his single-minded focus for a while now.

A series of repressed memories seemed to unlock themselves as he contemplated what blackmail material Futaba might have tucked away. Oh good _god_ was it bad. Late November emotional spirals had led to cat videos on the internet, bird videos had led to Featherman had led to many hours logged into fanfiction sites in a futile attempt to fill the black hole growing inside of him.

The effect had been adverse, as in every story he read he saw a familiar tale unfolding about two rivals with a deep bond. Except Feather Black wasn't the biggest fucking idiot to ever poison this planet with his continued presence on it. Red's idealism and leadership had made him yearn to the point where he ached all over and he couldn't find his footing for an hour or so. Many mornings he had woken up on the floor with red eyes and cold skin.

That wasn't even the worst of it. In a fit of what he could only chalk up to madness, he'd expressed all of these feelings in the comment section of one story that had the fucking nerve to be a goddamn coffee shop au. Barista!Red just made him think of warm coffee pouring from a pot and thick blood pouring from a hole in Kurusu Akira's skull.

Goro was in no mood to articulate all of that to another human being ever in his entire life. "I do not see anything embarrassing about my search history." If he took away the impact, perhaps she would forget what a sharp sword she wielded.

"I wouldn't want to leak your emo shit, that's just sad to look at," Futaba clarified, "I meant showing Akira all the stuff you google about relationship advice."

Oh. That was _far_ worse. Everyone already knew he had some mental something or other, but for them to know that he and all his brains needed to consult forums for preteen girls with advice for wooing his rival? He would promptly collapse and never recover. "Deal accepted. I require tangible evidence of the deletion."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll text you later." She took his computer and left without another word.

Not that Goro was expecting a cheerful farewell, but it was just a bit disheartening.

Only a little.

x

Cool water from the sink splashed into Goro's face, melting off all of the makeup he'd carefully applied earlier. The mirror forced him to gaze upon dark circles beneath soulless eyes sunken into a pale face. He couldn't hold back a wince.

The water hadn't done much to calm him down, so he resorted to reapplying his makeup. His purple bags and rogue freckles took several coats of cakey foundation and concealer to truly hide. A quick dusting of pink blush gave his complexion just enough life for one to believe he was still breathing. He looked like a plastic doll with soft brushable hair and several successful careers who lived in a giant colorful house with all of her equally beautiful little friends.

Where dollhouses flaunted sparkly color-coordinated furniture and a multitude of luxurious clothes, Goro's apartment was tight and desolate. Somehow it managed to be empty and suffocating at the same time. All the furniture had come with the place, the only hints of character were the takeout boxes stacked in the sink and the thick layer of dust.

He found himself torn between eradicating those snippets of personality for the sake of cleanliness or leaving them so Akira didn't think Goro had led him to an IKEA showroom instead of a real apartment.

Hosting another human being in his storage room of misery was making venom rise in his throat. It felt like exposing himself as he was once more, empty except for a mess here or there and signs of continuous neglect.

But Akira had been nice enough to go get an air conditioner for him and Goro would certainly drop it out the window where it could hit a person or a car if he tried to install it himself. His flawed nature had already wrecked enough destruction for a lifetime. And a lack of arm strength made for a rather pathetic cause of death.

Goro was scrubbing at a stain on the counter that the last tenant had probably left behind when his phone buzzed. The vibration traveled up his arm until its ringing reached his brain. He had yet to unlearn the instant fear that he'd come to associate with a text message back when the only person who spoke to him was the one guiding him to his ruin.

Thankfully, it was not his father texting him from whatever prison cell his bald ass would rot in for the rest of eternity. It was the person who had kept Goro from facing the same fate.

 **Akira:** hey babe! i'm almost there, the subway was kinda crowded <3

 **Goro:** Undrrstpod. I will swe you soon.

His gloved hands shook as he plucked out the letters with his pointer finger. There was only so much time he had left before Akira's inevitable arrival. Looking at the sink once more, shame welled up inside him, threatening to overflow and flood the whole room. 

To put a cork in it, Goro hoisted the stack of takeout boxes out of the sink and shoved them into the garbage can. He kicked it shut, only to find that his accumulated tower of takeout was too tall. In a panic, he shoved the top boxes into his empty cabinets. Hopefully, Akira respected his boundaries enough to avoid poking around too much.

At the very least he suspected that Akira might take a peek into the fridge. It was unfortunate, but there was nothing he could do to make things look better than they were and assuage Akira’s worries.

 **Akira:** are u alright? its not like you to text without perfect grammar and spelling

Well, shit.

 **Goro:** I'm fine. The glpves make it a bit difficutl. Cease yoru fretting.

It was a bullshit excuse but Akira didn't send him anything else so he considered it a success

His roomba was hard at work sucking up crumbs and dirt that didn't exist. At most, it likely caught a few stray strands from when he felt like tearing all of his hair out.

The counters had been cleaned until he could see his frenzied face in them, the table was set just in case they had dinner, and the couch was arranged so that it looked like a picture from a catalog. Goro took a step back to look at all of his hard work.

Scanning over the room, his proud smile quickly fell. It didn't look any different, aside from the removal of the takeout tower. The washing machine aisle in Akihabara had more personality. No one lived here.

There was a sharp knock on the door with enough force to nearly topple him over. He’d set himself up for that scare, truthfully, standing right in front of the door when he knew he was having company over. For the first time ever. Goro took his gloves off only to briefly wipe his sweaty palms on his khakis.

With his hand on the doorknob, he tried to rationalize to himself why his anxieties were pointless and stupid. Akira had seen him completely lose his shit several times and he’d still asked him out regardless. And a helpful nerd was by far the least dangerous person to enter a place where Goro had resided. That wasn’t to say Akira wasn’t a threat— the fact that he was was part of his appeal— but that his intentions towards Goro were purely benign and sickeningly sweet.

The same could not be said for the men who had cycled through to visit his mother. She had always claimed they were her “friends”, but Goro— despite having only a conceptual notion of what friendship was meant to be— knew that a friend wouldn’t leave her in such a state of tangible distress.

Goro wondered what it had been like for her to know that her guests would bring her both her livelihood and her death. She wouldn’t have needed as much money if not for the small child who she’d send off to the bathhouse in a futile attempt to save his innocence. He was always so weak.

He twisted the doorknob open after taking several labored breaths to calm himself down. Akira was waiting in the empty space where a welcome mat should've been with a big smile and a bigger air conditioning unit in his arms.

"This thing's heavier than I thought it would be," Akira said with not a single hint of strain in his voice.

"You carried it throughout Tokyo. You can hold on a little longer," Goro replied. If Akira tried to hand it to him, he'd probably drop it on his foot. Akira pouted, but walked through the door and placed the air conditioner down in the middle of the room, careful not to scratch up the hardwood floors. 

Watching Akira cross the threshold hadn't made Goro want to tear off his gloves and bite his nails off, but when Akira stood up without the burden of heavy electronics in his arms Goro suddenly thought some good old keratin sounded quite appetizing. It'd be very unreasonable for Goro to snap at him for innocently taking in his surroundings, but the temptation to tell him to stop was hard to resist.

He remembered standing behind Akira with a hand on his chair during the meetings of the Phantom Thieves. It had often taken far too long for them to cease their idle chatter and actually get to the mission part, so Goro would survey the attic as a way to pass the time before Niijima whipped them into shape. He had been standing in an actual storage room and yet he felt cozier among the boxes of miscellaneous junk than he'd ever felt in the apartment Shido was paying for him to stay in.

Akira's shelves were home to many shoddily-painted gacha game figurines, ramen bowls, shogi pieces, and even a full-blown chocolate fountain next to his beloved plant. Every item seemed so random and worthless, yet each was an artifact with a story behind it. The ramen bowl was a goofy souvenir, yet it came attached with memories of a conversation— one could assume Sakamoto was involved in that particular instance— and good food shared with good friends.

Goro's shelves were only a place to put his college textbooks when he was not using them. They used to house a layer of dust too, but Goro had removed it before Akira's arrival.

A tape measure was extracted from Akira's infinitely mysterious bag. To this day, Goro had no clue where he pulled all of the Metaverse equipment out from. Akira used it to measure the unit itself, and then Goro's window to make sure it would fit in there. Now that Goro was thinking about it, it was kind of a small window. The lack of light probably wasn't helping with his moods.

"Good news." Akira turned back from the window and grinned. "It fits. I probably should've measured stuff before buying the air conditioner, but it looks like everything worked out."

"That's good to hear," Goro replied. He crouched down and gently hoisted the air conditioner off of the ground. Had Akira been spending time at the gym? Because last time Goro checked, Akira was nearly as flimsy as he was. Maybe acrobatic instruction with Yoshizawa had had some effect on his physique, but Goro didn't think the occasional lesson could have allowed him to lug this damned box all over Tokyo.

It was almost certain that the back of Goro's shirt was going to rip open. Thankfully he'd had the foresight to wear short sleeves due to the summer weather because if he hadn't then his sleeves would have met a similar fate— torn at the seams and falling to his wrists. This shirt wasn't exactly cheap either, all of his clothes had been carefully picked to maintain the illusion of stability within his life. The public had no reason to know that such frivolities came at the expense of other things that one may find more essential. To Goro, it was inconsequential, what people thought of him was far more significant than his well being. It was all about crafting a well-made illusion.

No amount of repression could make Akira think Goro was not about to drop the air conditioner though. He couldn't help but feel pathetic when Akira took the other end and helped him bring it over to the window. Thus why he did not say thank you. If anything Akira had taken away the chance to prove himself and done him a disservice. Goro was nothing if not useful.

"There's an outlet around here, right?" Akira asked. Goro nodded and jerked his head over in the general direction of it. Any attempt at pointing with elbows, fingers, or even his foot would end in disaster. He often plugged his computer charger into that outlet when he was forcing himself to get work done and the chair was starting to kill his back.

The laptop was resting on his kitchen table now. Futaba hadn't delivered it herself, Goro had just gone to Leblanc the day after giving it to her and it'd been waiting there for him. The screen was working again and she'd even finished his last sentence with the name of the culprit. Goro was never particularly great with gratitude— admissions of thanks felt like he was saying he needed something, and he didn't need anything. He was independent and self-sufficient, impenetrable as a fortress of stone. 

Regardless of his gripes with such communication, he would have liked to compliment her efficiency to her face. His paper had been submitted without a hitch and his professor had given him much praise for his dedication. He had taken pictures of the comments with his phone. It was nice to know he was good at something.

Akira held the air conditioner steady while Goro shoved the window closed on top of it. He winced when his black leather fingers came back coated in white dust. He knew he'd forgotten something in his cleaning. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure he'd never opened that window in the two or so years he'd been living here. Some of the dust had to be the dry skin follicles of the previous owner or whatever strange men had helped Shido set him up.

On the air conditioner, there were some paper-shade-like extensions meant to keep the outside elements from getting in through the cracks. As Akira was pulling them out, Goro watched several bugs fly through into his apartment and make a beeline for the lights. He got the feeling this was going to be a recurring issue. The next time Akira came it would be to fix all the things Goro broke while trying to squash the pests that would undoubtedly be hovering around his head for the rest of the season.

Goro plugged in the air conditioner and it buzzed to life, creating a steady hum of white noise while blowing cool air into his face. His hair was abruptly swept behind him and Akira giggled a bit.

"I don't think I've ever seen your forehead before," Akira said jokingly. In Goro's opinion, he'd look like he was balding without his bangs, but if Akira agreed he didn't comment on it.

"I could say the same for you. I don't think I've even seen your eyebrows," Goro retorted. That wasn't entirely true. He'd seen them emerge from the nest of hair when Akira was deep in thought.

Akira smugly placed himself right in front of the cool air and made a very stupid face. Despite his eye roll, Goro couldn't deny that it was kinda cute. In general, Akira was kinda cute. Kinda. "Maybe the bangs are part of why you get so sweaty," Akira suggested.

"You flatter me," Goro deadpanned. Akira laughed at him again and Goro sighed. His eyes landed on the bag in the center of the room. "Did you bring something else?" he asked.

"Oh shit, thanks for reminding me." Akira knelt down next to his bag and pull out what Goro could've sworn was a month's supply of instant meals. Goro felt somewhere between baffled and appalled. "I come with food."

"This is all for me?" Goro asked. Akira nodded and signaled for Goro to sit down next to him.

There were a variety of different options among the selection, all with simple instructions. The ramifications of Akira spending his own money on buying Goro food that he could actually make were too much right now, so Goro settled on saying "If you were tired of having to cook mild curry for me, you could've just said so."

"You're a dumbass," Akira replied so quickly that Goro got whiplash. "A cute one, but still a dumbass. I love cooking for you, but you don't come to Leblanc every night. I wouldn't mind at all if you did but..." he waved his hands at the pile "it's always good to have a plan B."

"I suppose so," Goro murmured. None of them were spicy, all boasting a simple process and a satisfactory product. His stomach hurt.

"Futaba recommended them," Akira added, nonchalant and casual as if the little hacker making food recommendations for her mother's killer wasn't the verbal equivalent of a battering ram crashing through Goro's skull. "She said— and I quote— 'even a major noob like Akechi could make one of these.'"

That didn't mean anything at all to Goro but he got the feeling she had insulted him.

"Do thank her for me," Goro said softly, barely audible to even his own ears. "I'll be sure to eat them so your money does not go to waste." His younger self would've killed for one of these. Funny given how his life had turned out.

"Don't worry about it," Akira said, inching his fingers towards Goro's, almost close enough to touch. Even through his gloves, Goro could feel the warmth radiating off of them. It was just making his own hands sweatier. "I'm still rich from the Metaverse anyway. I might be breaking the economy for you, honey."

"As long as you don't get caught," Goro said, placing his pinky finger over Akira's. He faced the pile of food so Akira couldn't see his face getting red. All the packages were green and fun, with tacky exclamations of things like "so delicious" and "done in 3 minutes!" He could already tell that with each bite he wouldn't be able to think about how it tasted at all. He would be too busy racking his brain to figure out why they'd ended up in his possession.

x

As he stared at the shelves of fatty snacks, Goro tried to wonder why the hell he was here.

But then he remembered that it was because Akira said he was gonna break into Goro's apartment with a pan from Leblanc to make Goro breakfast every morning. Sojiro was reasonably alarmed by this, but forever reason seemed far more offended by Akira borrowing a pan than Akira literally breaking into Goro's home.

Actually, that was fair. Goro was a little shit and he knew it. He'd deserve that.

Disappointed by the thwarted revival of his thievery practices, Akira had taken it upon himself to stock Goro's apartment with cooking supplies that he could never use without setting everything on fire. 

The fact that these were all deemed worthwhile purchases implied that Akira planned on visiting him a lot. Goro still wasn't sure how to feel about that. Despite his anxiety, the first visit had turned out fine. That didn't mean he'd suddenly stop worrying by some miracle though. 

But selfish as he was, he had to admit that having some company would not be a bad thing. It would be even more private than spending time in Leblanc anyway. If he did freak out for whatever reason, the only witness would be the person he trusted most. Damage control would be at its height.

Akira's grand romantic gestures still didn't explain why he was standing in an aisle filled with salty chips from the ground to the ceiling. That part of his predicament was owed to Sojiro asking if Akira could accompany Futaba in restocking the Sakura household's food supply. Goro was a big believer in efficiency, so when Akira suggested killing two birds with one stone he couldn't bring himself to say no.

Futaba was in her element browsing all of the snacks. Being assigned grocery duty meant being able to pick out her favorite bonus goodies with no repercussions. The thrill of that was likely what was keeping her afloat while other customers bustled about.

Admittedly, Goro wasn't familiar with most of the products he saw. He recognized brand names from advertisements, but he had no formed association between the names and the tastes.

When he was little he'd often done their grocery shopping to help his mother, but they were limited to the cheapest necessities he could find. Sometimes the nice lady at the counter had asked if he had eaten enough that week. To avoid troubling her, he'd always said yes, but she never believed him. She would give him an extra thing of bread and refuse to accept any of his promises to pay her back, saying "When you become a billionaire, then maybe I'll consider letting you give me a slice of your fortune."

He was at least more well off now then he'd been back then, but he was far from being a billionaire. Not even Kurusu Metaverse-hoarder Akira had that much money.

Speaking of, Akira came up behind him while he was studying the packaging of a box of crackers. "Ryuji just sent me his ma's stew recipe and I wanna try it out on you," Akira said, showing Goro his phone. "Would you mind watching Futaba while I go find the ingredients?"

She wouldn't be too hard to keep an eye on with her bright orange hair. It would be even easier to find her when she inevitably knocked over a display anyways. "Not at all," Goro replied.

Akira looked around for witnesses before giving Goro a chaste peck on the cheek and running off to find food. Hopefully, the rattling of squeaky shopping car wheels had concealed the completely unintimidating squawk he'd just produced. Or maybe people would just think it was a strangled bird flying around the grocery store instead of an interpersonally challenged gay teenager.

That left just him, Futaba, and the leading cause of diabetes (do not quote him on that). Goro thought it best to occupy himself by investigating the snack options available to him. It was difficult to discern which ones would actually taste good since they all boasted the ideal versions of the same few flavors. Futaba might know a thing or two, but no way was Goro going to ask her.

She seemed happy. He tended to sour the mood with his less-than-sunny disposition.

One particular brand of sandwich cookie seemed to have made it their goal to represent every pastry imaginable in their flavoring options. Some of the competing brands advertised the inclusion of natural ingredients, but these cookies had no such labels. The special flavors probably tasted like dish soap and chemicals. Goro decided to pass on those.

A loud gasp across the aisle made Goro tense up. He turned his head to see Futaba crouched on the floor. The combination of those two indicators made him nervous. Had something happened? Was she not feeling well? Where the fuck was Akira when he needed him?

With some hesitance, Goro slowly walked over. He kept his footsteps audible to avoid startling her with his sudden appearance. Upon reaching her side, he realized that he was a fucking idiot.

There was no crisis, only him being paranoid. Futaba just found more flavors of Procky hidden behind the first row of boxes.

And now he looked like he was being completely weird by looming over her. Goro took a few steps back in hopes that the world would grant him one kindness and decide she hadn't noticed him. The world decided he'd already used up his one kindness when Akira was pulled into his orbit. Dammit.

Futaba turned her head around to look up at him. Goro had to fake being extremely absorbed in the selections of gum just in front of his line of sight. Purchasing a pack might not be a bad idea actually. If he had something to chew then maybe he'd stop contemplating breaking his eight-year streak of not biting his nails. He remembered reading that it supposedly relieved stress too, and god did he need that.

He knew his acting chops had gotten rusty when his own faux shock at seeing her there triggered a full-body cringe right afterward. "Uh. Hello, Futaba-chan. I suppose I hadn't noticed you there."

She squinted at him. "What are you doing."

"Looking at the gum. There are a lot of flavors to choose from." Goro took one off of the shelf. "Cinnamon sounds good."

"No, it doesn't," Futaba replied. "Clearly you've never had it. Your endurance isn't high enough to handle cinnamon gum. Takoyaki almost wiped out all of your stamina."

"Oh. I thought it would be sweet," he mumbled.

"Welp. It's not."

"That's somewhat disappointing." He wasn't really considering purchasing cinnamon in particular, but now he almost wanted to do it to prove that he... _had enough endurance_ or stamina or whatever on earth she'd said.

Goro looked at the display of Procky boxes. "Are those sweet?" he asked while pointing to them.

Futaba frowned at him and he wondered what he'd done wrong. Well, besides the one very big and unresolvable thing that he did. But he'd thought that this exchange was going alright. Maybe she'd wanted him to shut up and go stare at some sugar-coated granola mush but he'd just kept talking. That was understandable, he also wanted to make himself stop talking lest he have another pancake blunder. Letting his mouth run never led to anything good, he either said too much or was just being a pain.

Instead of telling him to quit bothering her, Futaba just said, "You deprived soul. Is this why you are the way you are?"

She stood up and reached her arm out. In her hand, there was a box of strawberry Procky. "Take some Procky home. Maybe you'll learn the true meaning of happiness and stop acting like a tired old man in a teenager's body. It's kinda weird."

Goro stared at the box in her hand for far longer than a normal person would, trying to process the meaning behind this gesture. It wasn't even like she was buying it for him or anything, she was just telling him to eat some goddamn pastry sticks, which held all the secrets to life within their sweet frosting.

Moreover, she just insulted him on top of it. He'd already reluctantly accepted that his clothing preferences were destined to be the butt of many jokes, but the fact that she claimed the peculiarity was in how he acted confounded him. If anything, he thought he just straight up didn't act like a person. He was more like a defective machine or an alien struggling to deal with a communication barrier.

Eventually, he mercifully ceased his continued bizarreness and accepted the offering. He was careful not to touch her hand in fear of the contact causing his blackened soul to fly out of his body. The box rattled a bit. When the hell was he going to eat these.

Regardless, perhaps he should thank her. He hadn't gotten the chance to when she fixed his computer, so this was a more casual and mundane opportunity. But his dignity— beaten and bruised as it was from the moment of his conception— refused to let him.

"What's that supposed to mean." Goro regretted his words immediately. 

His defense always presented itself as a cornered animal snarling a warning. He'd been the cowering bunny about to enter the wolf's gullet far too many times, training himself to be the wolf was integral to his continued survival in this cruel world.

Futaba's method of survival had been to hibernate until her food supply ran out. But now she was outside of her nest and he'd just bared his teeth at her.

"My apologies, that did not come out how I intended it," Goro said softly. "I'll stop bothering you. And consider buying the snack."

Goro turned around to walk away when he heard Futaba say "Wait!" a bit louder than was universally acceptable indoors.

He did as she said— mostly because he had nothing better to do and she was not someone he wanted to disobey in any capacity— and waited for her to give some sort of explanation. And boy did he need one. For her to not want him to fuck off was unfathomable.

"That was..." she began, "...kinda mean." Futaba shoved her hands in her pockets and looked down. "What's the saying...the one about stones and people in glass houses? Uh. Basically it's kinda unfair for me to say you act weird when I invented acting weird."

By nature of being born first, if either of them had revolutionized acting weird, it had to be Goro. But for once he kept his stupid know-it-all mouth shut.

"I know all that Detective Prince stuff was scripted as hell, and there was that one time you walked into the cafe and started randomly telling me and Akira about your dead mom. So I don't know why I assumed you'd be all well-spoken and shit," Futaba said.

Ah, so she hadn't forgotten about that. "I suppose my capacity for convincing acting has declined since last year" was all he could think to say.

Futaba scoffed. "Thank god. Fakechi was a pretentious little bitch. At least Disasterkechi is a relatable pretentious little bitch."

"Don't let Sojiro hear you talking like that or he's gonna wash both of your mouths out with soap." Both of them screamed at the sudden third voice entering the conversation. Akira laughed while Futaba started smacking his arm.

"You suck!" she yelled. "You know I don't like jump scares!"

"What? You played through all of those Chuck-E-Cheese games and you don't like jump scares?" Akira teased.

They kept bickering about bears or something beyond Goro's grandpa comprehension, but he couldn't help but smile just watching them interact. He'd always seen brief glimpses of their bond, but never full sibling-to-sibling squabbles. For once, him being there he wasn't putting them on pause.

He clutched the Procky box to his chest. It felt nice to even be an observer looking in on the happiness they'd found in each other. Perhaps earlier it would have been painful to witness what he'd never have. He could easily recall pangs of jealousy and melancholy when the other children got picked up by their parents and played with their siblings while he'd walked home alone.

But Akira, Futaba, and Sojiro weren't related by blood. Their connection came from shared experiences and shared love. However unworthy he was, it made Goro think he might have a chance.

x

In hindsight, maybe Goro should've been a bit more forceful when negotiating a meet-up spot. His own loathing of inconveniences had allowed him to be dragged along for a plan that would ultimately lead to him melting in the core of the earth.

But Yoshizawa had wanted to spend some time with him following her gymnastics practice. She'd been awfully busy with tournaments lately, new resolve from the past winter had propelled her to the top and filled her schedule to the brim. Apart from some text messages back and forth, they hadn’t had much opportunity to talk.

To reward her hard work, Goro had been gracious enough to save her the trouble of finding him somewhere else after hours of rigorous training.

The only problem was that it was a Tokyo summer and the gym where Yoshizawa trained offered no semblance of shade whatsoever.

He gazed at the awnings of the stores across the street with a sense of great longing. A mother with a baby stroller got up from a bench and Goro was so very tempted to run through traffic just to claim the open spot for himself.

His skeleton was like a popsicle stick and the rest of him was very close to melting into a puddle of goo at his feet. Finding him in such a state would surely frighten poor Yoshizawa, so it would be ideal to prevent that from happening.

The heat was already making him miserable, but on top of that, he just felt horribly awkward loitering outside. Every pedestrian who passed by him seemed to look him over with the utmost scrutiny. 

Sweat had soaked through Goro's white shirt entirely; the fabric clung to his back like it was trying to merge with his skin. As far as he could tell, he still smelled like a whole can of spray-on lavender deodorant, but who knew who long that would last. 

Unfortunately, the weather app on his phone did not come bearing any good news. Not only would the rest of today be stinking hot, but the rest of the week was only getting worse. He'd noticed some other people on the subway carrying bags with bathing suits— presumably to go to a pool or even the beach— but that wasn't really an option because he never learned how to swim.

The sound of the door opening nearly made him jump ten blocks backward. The increase in volume that followed made him vaguely aware of the groups of perky gymnasts leaving in outfits that seemed better suited for the beach than the street. He didn’t expect to find Yoshizawa in one of their little cliques knowing her, so he went back to checking the weather. 30 degrees celsius with 75% humidity. Kill him now.

“Akechi-senpai!” He looked up to see Yoshizawa, dressed far more conservatively than her teammates, giving him a polite bow in greeting. His arm was a limp noodle when he waved back. “How are you?”

Goro almost gave her the cutesy smile and cheerful tv response on deeply ingrained impulse but decided against it because she knew better, and with how much he was dying in the heat it would probably look psychotic. “Quite hot, but I’ve been worse,” he replied. He wanted to rip his bangs out of his hairline and eat them. But she didn’t need to hear or visualize that. “How was practice?”

“It went well! The gym has really intense air conditioning, so I’m actually still a bit chilly right now,” she replied.

How the fuck was she cold. "I envy you."

She led him to a nearby restaurant where they could cool down a bit. Given how much time she spent at practice, Goro had no doubt that Yoshizawa knew this entire area from end to end. And she wasn't going to lure him over to some sugary monstrosity, unlike Takamaki who seemed to take immense pleasure in watching him fail to fit them in his mouth. 

Watching Yoshizawa rub her cold arms made him just a little angry, but the multitude of fans stationed around the establishment was starting to unfuse his wet shirt from his chest. Maybe he should buy some. The new air conditioner in the general area was a lifesaver, but the cool air didn't quite reach his bedroom.

"So, senpai," Yoshizawa began once their orders had been taken. "How have you been?"

Goro idly stirred his glass of water with the straw. "I've been alright. Better than last year, at least."

Adapting to studying in college hadn't been too difficult, admittedly. Schoolwork tended to come easily to him and he didn't exactly have any friends at his high school who he'd be dying without. As much of a downer as it often was, his lack of tethers to any aspects of his life made it easier to move on.

The frightening part had been the possibility of Akira going home. He'd be away in some country town, perceptible through endless texts and calls but not quite tangible. As soon as Goro had gotten his first taste of keeping someone close, he'd become painfully aware of how starved he was for it.

Like an utter fool, he'd found himself checking his phone with enough frequency that some stuck-up old businessmen could easily use his data to heavily skew public perception on the technology usage of the doomed young generations. Goro would admit to being on the technologically challenged side of his generation, he had rarely even used his phone for any purposes that weren't vital for communication and information. Exchanging words with Akira hadn't seemed vital before, but now it felt like his oxygen. He needed someone to make him feel known just to remember that he wasn't just an illusion concocted by a gentle madman.

But then Akira stayed. He hadn't spoken much of the confrontation with his parents, summing up what had likely been an explosive argument with a simple "I told them to fuck off and they decided that was reason enough to agree to send me back." 

There had to be more to it, but Goro wouldn't pry just yet. Not when he was still a rusted locker full of secrets that could get a lot of people in a lot of trouble. For once, one of those people would not be him. But his own stubborn pride forbade him to let the world know that he was capable of being harmed.

"I'm not quite sure what I want to study yet," Goro admitted. "In a perfect world, I would further my skills as a detective and use them to do some real good. But to think that I am capable of reforming a system that is wholly corrupt from the roots to the branches is grossly naive and idealistic."

Yoshizawa blinked at him a few times and he wondered if there was something on his face. Which wouldn't make any sense, they hadn't even eaten yet. "You have such a way with words, senpai," Yoshizawa said once her moment of confoundment passed. "Maybe you should consider becoming a writer."

Now it was his turn to be confused. "I'm not sure anyone would have a pleasant experience reading anything that came out of my head," Goro said. "People use written prose as an escape from the events of their own lives. But to go from a mostly-normal life to one of my creations sounds like shoving one's head into a vat of tar because they got bored with the taste of oxygen."

"Senpai, you just proved my point! These visuals just roll off of your tongue. Maybe they wouldn't be happy stories, but maybe people could relate to them. It can be comforting to know that your feelings aren't just you being the odd one out," Yoshizawa argued. "Besides, I never said you had to write stories. You could combine your talents and get into investigative journalism. I'd definitely want to read your articles."

"Hm. Perhaps I'll consider it. I'll see what the student advisor has to say when I bring it up." Goro took a long sip from his water. It was awfully tempting to press the cool glass against his head, but that wouldn't be very becoming of a gentleman now would it. "Well, that's quite enough about me, how goes the gymnastics dream?"

Yoshizawa bounced in her seat a little and Goro couldn't help but smile a bit. Her energy was contagious, but it wasn't the bubbly electricity she'd had when masquerading as her late sister. This energy was distinctly _Sumire's_ , more subtle but in a way that seemed more welcoming.

"My coach told me I should submit a video entry for an international competition," she explained, twirling her hair around her index finger. "I asked Akira-senpai if he knew anyone who could help me film and edit it. He directed me to a friend of his, but I was a bit nervous about having someone I didn't know watch me perform alone. So I asked Futaba-senpai to help me since I figured she'd be the best with technology."

The sigh that came out of Yoshizawa's mouth was so dreamy and elated that Goro thought he was going to contract diabetes from merely witnessing it. "She had all these cool ideas for the presentation. I think the judges just wanted a straight-forward video of my performance, but I thought it couldn't hurt to try out whatever she was suggesting." Yoshizawa chuckled softly and tucked her hair behind her ear with averted eyes. "I'll admit I uh. I didn't really know what she was talking about most of the time."

Goro, a known idiot, said, "She'd be better for you than Akira anyway. He thinks jump scaring your significant other in public is acceptable."

"I never said I-!" Yoshizawa was quick to lower her voice after Goro raised an eyebrow at her. She sunk back into her seat. "You're a good detective, Akechi-senpai."

"You're rather transparent, Yoshizawa-san," Goro retorted. "But I suppose I'll take the compliment." It was much easier to take them when he could be a smug bitch about it. "Do you have a plan? Watching as you continue to pine sounds nothing short of insufferable."

"With all due respect, given the things I heard you say in battle last January, I don't think you have much room to talk, senpai."

She wasn't wrong. "Fair enough," Goro admitted. "But when have I ever been a good example."

"In battle. You pretty much taught me how to fight without letting my emotions distract me."

"Besides that."

"Well, how about now? You and Akira-senpai are happy together, are you not? Other than the jump scare thing. How do I get what you have with him with her?" Yoshizawa asked.

Dissuading her from coming to _him_ of all people for romantic advice had proved insufficient, so he figured the right thing to do here would be to at least try to help her. Being selfless was incredibly selfish of him. He did not deserve the rush of serotonin that came with it, yet he claimed it nonetheless. The facade of nobility presented for his own emotional gain.

He was frankly lost on how to possibly advise her. And that confusion could be mostly owed to the fact that he had no idea why Akira had wanted to end up with him. One had to be a complete fool to stare down the barrel of a gun and decide he wanted to hold the hand that trembled on the trigger.

Futaba was no fool either. The only reason the pulling of the trigger hadn't snuffed out any chance of teenage romance was her intelligence (Perhaps the other thieves contributed to the scheme in some regard, but without her specific knowledge all of their plans would have been for naught).

Then again, the chances of a budding relationship were greatly helped by the fact that Yoshizawa's hands were free of any blood. But a bond without bloodshed behind it was beyond Goro's knowledge.

That probably said something about him. No, it _definitely_ said _a lot_ about him. Mostly that he needed to go the fuck to therapy.

Niijima Sae would surely nag him about it one of these days, unable to understand his mistrust of psychiatric professionals because she didn't see one try to brainwash the whole population for the sake of "treatment." But that was not the issue at hand right now.

"Besides filming, have you spent much time one-on-one with her?" Goro asked.

Yoshizawa shook her head. "My coach was there when we were filming so she could critique my technique in between takes. We wanted to make sure we got as close to perfect as possible."

"Alright. Well, the first step would be to further your bond by spending some private time together. That way you can get to know each other more intimately." For most people, he figured that the last part didn't usually mean impulsively info-dumping a bunch of sob stories about your harrowing childhood, but the concept likely still applied.

"Got it. Any places or activities you'd recommend?" Yoshizawa asked.

Whenever Goro came into Leblanc and Futaba was not-so-subtly waiting in the corner for the demon spawn to get off of her sacred (coffee) grounds, she would take out a small tablet-like device and play some games.

"I do know she enjoys video games," Goro offered. "I'll admit, I haven't played many myself, but I do believe there is an array of selections that can be played by multiple people at once." The quaint little console in Akira's room had two controllers plugged into it, so surely hosting numerous participants was within the realm of possibility.

It would be easy to tease Yoshizawa when she took out her phone to take goddamn _notes_ on his hastily-scraped-together relationship advice. But frankly, if he'd had a consultant telling him what to do (Step One: try to kill him. He's dumb as shit and he'll be into that.) he probably would've been doing the same, only with a notepad specially purchased for that exact purpose.

"Video games. Okay," she repeated to herself while she typed. "Anything else?"

Futaba did like hacking into records to expose people, but that didn't really sound like a fun date unless both participants were experts at the craft of digital espionage. There was one other idea Goro had, but if he revealed it he would be doing so at the risk of completely and utterly exposing himself. It had to be kept a secret at all costs, if Yoshizawa were to let it slip out he would be done for.

But she was looking at him with such admiration in her eyes, anticipating nuggets of wisdom that he couldn't possibly offer. He was being relied upon. It would be wrong to withhold information from her that might give her a better chance.

And perhaps it would be doing Futaba a favor as well, however indirectly. Just one good thing to be weighed against the monstrous deed on the other side of the scale.

"Ok. Here's what you need to do."

x

Upon waking up, Goro had no idea where the fuck he was. Before he was even conscious enough to let his eyes crack open, he was thrust into a disoriented state. The surface beneath him squelched whenever he fidgeted–which was a lot; restlessness inflicted him like a physical ailment.

Cracking his eyes open meant subjecting them to the sun’s laser beams, which instantly eviscerated them into ashes. But in the fleeting seconds before the light obliterated his sight, he had recognized the ceiling of his dreary bedroom. All the tiny holes and flaws that he examined while he tried to sleep most nights had been there. Which meant that the moist _thing_ beneath him was his mattress.

He needed to burn it. If he threw it out the window, it'd likely burst into flames before it even reached the ground.

Now all too aware that he'd been using his mattress as a sponge for all of his sweat, Goro kicked off the covers and snapped out of bed. This ended up being a mistake because he instantly felt dizzy, but that was inconsequential. Feeling absolutely disgusting like a man-eating swamp creature had given him resolve.

Resolve took hold of the strings and moved his puppet body all the way to Akihabara. Were someone to ask, he probably couldn't recall a single detail of the trip to get there, since he was pretty sure he'd been possessed for all of it.

He needed a fan bigger than his torso and shades so dark that they were certified as vampire-approved. Whether or not the latter really qualified as an electrical appliance was a bit iffy, but surely a store with utility items like fans and washing machines would be carrying something as essential as some decent shades.

The fan was a higher priority, so he went looking for that first. Goro had never really been in a store like this before; he didn't really shop in general. It was daunting to see shelves from the floor to the high ceilings completely filled with different products. Hopefully, they tended to put lighter items on top. If a refrigerator fell from up there, he had no doubt that someone would die. There could even be multiple casualties if the population density was high or a group happened to be in the right spot.

Goro shook his head like an Etch-A-Sketch to erase the thoughts of gruesome slapstick deaths. He was here for a fan. It couldn't cause much more harm than sucking up his hair or stubbing his toe. As long as he didn't try to stick his finger in it like a moron.

He'd been a bit worried that all of Tokyo was going to be looking for a fan, but it seemed that the overall population had either been 1) smart enough to get one before summer actually started or 2) given up on their houses and become one with the chlorinated swimming pool. Goro extracted a basic plastic fan from the shelves. It was nowhere near as heavy as the big air conditioner, but it still strained his arms a little bit. Just a little.

Now he only needed the shades and he could get out of here as quickly as possible. Putting on a big smile and winning over crowds had been his job for a while, but that didn't mean he was particularly fond of being pushed around and stared at. He'd likely only been here ten minutes and he already wanted to go home.

Goro and his fan arrived at the aisle where the shades were supposed to be only to find empty shelves underneath the price labels. If he wanted to get thrown out by security (it'd spice up his day a bit for sure) he could easily lie down there and take a nap. It might even be marginally more pleasant than his mattress had been, despite the steel being as rigid and unforgiving as it was.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Goro spotted his solution. He dragged the fan down the aisle and broke into a brisk power walk. A man saw him storming down the aisle and promptly jumped out of his way. Goro took the product in his hands and stared at it.

" _Neo Featherman R Window Shades! Your favorite heroes will protect you and your sleep from the sun._ "

They were folded up in the packaging, but Goro could still see the artwork of all the rangers scattered across the black shades to form a charming pattern. He recognized the fantastical weapons floating between them as toys that he would've died to own as a child.

Looking at it made his insides feel light as if at any moment his feet would cease to touch the ground. He would gently rise past the shelves and whirring fans until he reached the ceiling, still holding the package in his hands.

The feeling didn't last. Goro quickly deflated when a series of realizations poked holes in his balloon. These shades were meant for children. If Akira were to enter Goro's room for whatever reason and realize his boyfriend had the decor of a six-year-old boy, that would be nothing short of embarrassing. Moreover, they were also too big for his window. He'd be taping them across the whole wall and that would look even nerdier.

But until he found something else, this was all he had. He took them along with the fan and rounded the corner to approach the checkout.

That's when he heard low voices and small whimpers. Ahead of him, there was a group of security guards all surrounding what he assumed was a person on the floor. Just looking at it made him feel claustrophobic. And he'd know the feeling, he couldn't even count the number of times when he'd found himself backed into a closet with scornful foster parents staring down at him like he was the smeared guts of a bug they'd just beaten with their shoes.

Unfortunately, getting to the check-out would mean passing by whatever the fuck was happening there. Goro fully intended to look straight ahead and pretend he didn't see anything, but then he saw orange hair.

Fuck.

"Excuse me, sir." Goro pitched his voice up as he spoke, a skill he'd mastered for the TV audience's listening pleasure. "I know this girl."

The three guards all turned to him at once and Goro couldn't help taking a small step back. Nevertheless, he continued. "She's my uh...my girlfriend's little sister. I can take it from here."

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or a bit appalled when all three of them just kinda left immediately. It was good for him that they didn't proceed with further probing, but what if he had been a total stranger with bad intentions? She would've been left completely vulnerable and helpless in whatever precarious situation happened next.

Cataloging that exchange to add to his list of disappointments with people of authority, Goro knelt down next to her. She was curled into a ball with her knees drawn into her chest. Her hair completely obscured her face.

"Futaba-chan? Is everything alright?" It was a stupid question, of course everything wasn't alright. To the surprise of absolutely no one, she shook her head.

"Um. I'm afraid I'm probably not very good at this but uh. Can you stand so we can move somewhere else?" His legs were already getting sore from maintaining this perched position, but no way was he letting his khakis touch the nasty floor. But alas, Futaba shook her head again. Goro was doomed to deal with achy leg muscles for now. 

"Okay uh. Just try to breathe." He stopped letting his big mouth run to try demonstrating deep breaths. Because he was struggling to keep himself from falling over, they were so shaky that one might think he was on the verge of hyperventilating too. "You're safe here. There are no heavy and dangerous objects that could fall from the upper shelves."

Just as Goro winced, Futaba's shoulders shook a bit and he heard her make a noise that was decidedly not linked to any form of crying. He wasn’t quite sure what it was though, muffled as the sound had been by her knees.

Either she was releasing a never ending stream of tiny sneezes or she was laughing. It wasn’t cold season, so Goro would be prone to assume it was the latter if the presumed cause of her laughter had been anyone but him.

There was really nothing for him to do except wait for her to calm down. Maybe he should walk her home just in case something else happened.

Futaba murmured something along the lines of “I err beewee yrrtld oomeh terwish terworsh sheeshns offeevermn.”

“Um. I didn’t quite get that,” Goro said. “Could you repeat it? Unless you never intended for me to hear in the first place, of course-”

“I can’t believe you told Sumire to watch the worst season of Featherman.”

That had certainly not been the response he'd expected after what he presumed was a panic attack. Goro choked on his own breath. "I beg your pardon?"

Futaba propped her chin up on her knees and brushed the hair out of her face. Her eyes were still a bit red and puffy, but it seemed that her anxieties had subsided. "Season five is all about Grey Pidgeon. I get that he's a new character and they wanna give him the spotlight, but every single episode is about him except for the weird forced romance one between Pink and Blue," Futaba explained.

"Excuse me? Grey Pidgeon is a phenomenal character foil for the rest of the team," Goro argued. "Without the added screen time they couldn't have possibly made his arc feel complete and satisfying.

"The twist was predictable. Take off your kinnie glasses and open your eyes to the truth, Akechi," Futaba said.

Goro scrunched up his nose. "What the fuck is a _kinnie_?"

Futaba's face was one of someone who deeply regretted all of their life choices. He would know, he got to see a prime example every time he passed by a mirror. 

"Forget I said anything," Futaba said. She sighed. "I can excuse season five I guess— I can see why _you_ would like it, you self-projecting heathen— but then you told her to watch season twelve too! The original writers weren't even on the staff, and it shows in the quality. Yusuke likes it for the art, but he gets a pass because he's Inari and he's hopeless. _You_ on the other hand, need to be held accountable. How dare you make a cute girl watch bad anime!"

"So you reciprocate Yoshizawa-san's feelings," Goro said dumbly. He would admit, he was a bit too frazzled to defend season twelve's honor at the moment, so a change in the direction of the discussion was welcome. "I'm sure she was pleased to hear that."

For the first time throughout this whole exchange, Futaba looked him directly in the eye. The light reflecting off of her glasses made it difficult to get the full picture of her expression, but her jaw went slack. "Sumire _likes_ me?" Futaba asked.

And that's when Goro realized: he fucked up. But not too badly this time! This could end in something good. He'd be doing something good. 

"For some unfathomable reason, she came to me for advice on the matter," Goro said. "I thought it unrealistic to expect her to watch every Featherman season ever given how busy she is with gymnastics, so I shortened the list for her. _Apparently_ I did a bad job, though."

Again, the glasses made it a bit hard to tell, but Goro was quite certain that she was staring at him as if he had just sprouted a second head, cat ears, and a giant lizard tail all at once. Or— to put it in her terms— Futaba.exe had ceased responding. Reboot and try again.

Abruptly, Futaba hopped to her feet with a new surge of energy. "I summon you to join my party on this side quest," she declared. "You should be honored. Your duties will start once I find the figure I wanted." 

Just as quickly as she'd stood up, she ran down the aisle with her arms stretched out behind her. Goro got up as well and stood there staring at the space she had occupied mere moments ago. While confusing, he assumed her strange code at least meant that he should follow her for now. And if it didn't, then he could just apologize for the mix-up and be on his way.

Goro found Futaba staring up at a box on a shelf that was just a bit too tall for her to reach. Following her line of sight, Goro saw a sculpted figure of a young girl in a white, silver, and blue school uniform. There were snowflakes on both her scarf and her tie. Her hair was in two ridiculously long ponytails that started out a snowy white and were blue at the tips.

"She does not look very well equipped for winter," Goro said.

"Leave your cynicism at the door and reunite me with my hologram wife," Futaba ordered. There must have been a lapse in understanding since this hypothermic girl was clearly a collectible figure and not a hologram. But Goro did as she said. Upon closer examination, there were also inexplicably snowflakes printed on the figure's hair. How. That was not how hair worked.

Futaba grinned and skipped ahead, leaving Goro struggling to catch up while carrying the items he'd wanted to buy. Thankfully, he was able to get in line right behind her before someone separated them and everything went awry. To pay for her figure, Futaba shoved her hand in her pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. She dumped the contents into the cashier's hand and did not receive any change. Futaba had come fully equipped for a quick in-and-out operation. In a way, Goro was impressed. He wished he'd had that level of foresight.

But it was just as easy for him to swipe his credit card once Futaba was done with her speedrunner's version of a transaction. She waited for him to join her, slightly swinging her shopping bag and tapping her foot to the upbeat music.

Once they were both outside the store, Futaba said, "Thanks, by the way, for helping me out there. Those guard guys were uh. Kinda freaking me out."

"There's no need to thank me," Goro replied. Not being an asshole shouldn't be a novelty worthy of praise, it should be a given.

"Yeah. I guess not," Futaba agreed. She glanced down as they walked towards the subway station. "I thought I could handle things on my own. I've been doing okay with school and all, but I guess I'm still too used to having Akira there."

Goro pondered that for a moment. "I suppose I'm the opposite," he said. "I've become so adjusted to handling everything myself since everyone who claimed to care for me ended up discarding me sooner or later. But I'm learning that there can be exceptions. So while this solo excursion went awry, that doesn't mean you are doomed to dependency or anything so severe. It simply means that this particular instance just happened to be negative. And unlike me, you will likely see a higher ratio of wins than losses. If attending Shujin has been going consistently well as you say, then it was inevitable probability-wise that something had to go wrong somewhere eventually."

Futaba blinked up at him. Goro cleared his throat and added under his breath, "For things to be going smoothly at Shujin Academy is a miracle in itself given that school's track record for hiring insidious human beings to guide children."

She snickered and almost dropped her hologram snow wife box thing. "Did you just use statistics to explain screwy brain shit? God, that's so nerdy it makes me want to sick some movie bullies on you and make them stuff you in a locker."

"I attempt to be sincere and you wish bodily harm upon me," Goro said. He sighed. "Perhaps I was better off being a full-time pretentious piece of shit."

x

The conclusion of his classes for the day led Goro back to Leblanc. Sojiro gave him a neutral nod of acknowledgment as usual upon his entry, but today it was coupled with a wry smile. Curious. The slight change in demeanor made him somewhat suspicious, but no one jumped out at him when he strode towards his usual seat so he brushed it off as the Boss simply being in a good mood.

Without him even saying a word, Sojiro started preparing a drink for him. His frequent visits meant that Sojiro always knew what he wanted, so he was surprised when his usual mug was replaced with a cup full of ice cubes.

Goro didn't want to be rude to someone whose kindness he did not deserve, but he did give Sojiro his best perplexed squint. Sojiro shrugged. "Akira said you don't like the heat. Serving you a hot drink seemed like a bad plan."

It was by no means difficult to imagine Akira— being a man of infamously few words— interrupting a silence after closing to abruptly inform Futaba's cameras and Sojiro that Goro's rogue sweat glands were actively attempting his assassination. Humiliating for sure, but not challenging. He could only hope that Akira had phrased it more gently as Sojiro had just now, if only for the sake of his pride.

If the Phantom Thieves had known that all it took to take the infamous Black Mask out was a little heat, they would've resolved everything far earlier by just sicking Takamaki on him.

"I suppose you're right. Thank you," Goro replied. He handed over the usual amount of money and took a sip. Just as Sojiro had suspected, the cool liquid entering his system was exactly what he needed.

The news was on again, though Goro was thankful to see that the story unfolding was not linked to him in any way. At least, not as far as he knew. The reporter was on the beach, undoubtedly on the brink of death in that meticulously tailored suit. Goro was almost thankful that the TV in Leblanc was as decrypt as it was, otherwise he would have easily been able to see beads of sweat fall down this man's face in HD.

As was to be expected, beaches were super crowded and people were leaving a bunch of trash in their wake. There were trash cans in the frame (a terrible choice from a cinematography standpoint in Goro's honest opinion), so clearly the issue was just a matter of mass laziness. Had the Phantom Thieves not been dissolved by the end of the Metaverse, chances were there would've been at least one person posting the names of known litterers on the Phan Site. Goro muffled a snort into his hand at the thought of dangerous cognitive vigilantes vying for a beach clean-up by fighting demons.

Leblanc's bell rang cheerfully to announce the entrance of more people to the little cafe. What surprised Goro was to find only Futaba standing in the doorway. Surely she knew this was when he always came, he'd seen her go to great lengths to make sure it wasn't just the two of them alone, usually involving Akira.

But no, she marched right up to his seat and slammed an object onto the counter with enough force to shake the beans. It was a copy of a Featherman video game Goro had never seen before, presumably for a more recent console.

"There's a co-op mode," Futaba said. "And I've heard the story is much better than season twelve's."

Goro ignored the small dig at his taste. "I hope you enjoy it."

"I said it’s co-op, dummy," she repeated. "That means I need a second player. And I don't wanna spoil anything for Sumire. So that leaves me with you."

When Goro was just starting to realize that he'd never be happy, he'd noticed other children pulling out rectangular devices with screens during lunch. While he had picked at his bread, they would hold competitions and trade and do all sorts of things together. When the time came for recess they had done the same thing, all huddling in a circle and enjoying whatever world was being created around them. Goro had tried asking once if he could try. Only after being glared at by the teacher did one student begrudgingly agree. Not understanding the strategy or what the buttons did, Goro had lost almost instantly.

"I'm afraid I'd only slow you down," Goro admitted.

Futaba had the nerve to scoff at him as if he was being an irrational child. “Oh, please. Akira said you kicked his butt at _Gun About_ and it was your first time playing. He’d been training with the top player and you destroyed him. You’re not gonna slow me down.”

Before she was doomed to pulling his weight, someone should have told Futaba that his proficiency in _Gun About_ was much less attributed towards skill with video games and much more a result of experience wielding a gun. But Goro was not going to be the person to tell her that killing her mother helped him get good at it without any practice.

He brought his iced coffee and his briefcase with him upstairs, following behind Futaba while she hopped three steps at a time. Goro really hoped she didn’t slip because he doubted he’d be able to catch her without falling backwards himself.

Entering Akira’s attic without Akira in it felt like an intrusion. A space that was meant to be solely for Akira was fully accessible to anyone who wandered into Leblanc. No door, no gate, no form of privacy whatsoever. The part of Goro that still ached with lust for destruction wanted to find Akira’s parents and (verbally) bash them over their heads. He wondered what kind of wretched people they had to be to cast out the most selfless person Goro had ever met.

Futaba pulled two chairs towards the center of the room and opened up a carrying case that must’ve been in the large pocket of her sweatshirt. Inside was the small device that Goro had often seen her using in the booths of the cafe. 

“Futaba-chan,” Goro said while she extracted two controllers, “I fear that screen may not be large enough for both of us to properly play on.” He was squinting just to make out the buttons on its colorful sides. Surely it would just make his assistance even worse than he’d anticipated.

She turned around and beamed at him. “Don’t worry. I think I have a spare dock here.” 

Goro sat in the chair closest to the stairs and watched her search for something behind the TV. He could tell when she found it because she mimicked a victorious jingle and held it up above her head— presumably in reference to something he was unfamiliar with. The “dock” she’d referred to was placed on the ledge just next to the tv. 

Her console was placed on the dock. Akira’s old tv flickered to life and burst into a sleek white menu screen with announcements on the side. The box art for the game was squashed into a square icon.

A controller was placed in his hand. “Pretty cool right?” Futaba said. “Clearly the superior console if you ask me.”

“I assume the appeal is the ability to take it anywhere and still enjoy the visuals on a larger screen when possible.” Goro pushed one of the controller buttons and two square lights on the bottom blinked to life.

The game booted up and Goro found himself enraptured by the introductory cutscene. Characters who had been his only companions as a child sprung into action, with fluid animation and crisp quality. It was irresistible to hum along with the high energy remix of the original theme song, adorned with orchestral riffs and fresh electric guitar ornamentation. His foot seemed to tap on its own.

When he pushed the joystick it didn’t have any effect, so he assumed Futaba was in control. She navigated with ease through a few menu screens until she got to one that displayed all the Featherman rangers.

 _Player 2: Press “A” to join_.

Goro did as it said and used the pad to pick a character. The screen showed six character options, but the last one was only a silhouette with a question mark. If that wasn’t Grey Pigeon, Goro would recommend that she return the game as a penalty for excluding the best character.

Futaba had taken Red, so Goro settled on Yellow. If he couldn’t be the leader, then he would at least pull his weight as the tank. Yellow wasn’t the smartest, but the intellect of the character surely had much less effect on the game than the intellect of the person wielding their strength on the other side of the screen.

Were it Akira playing, maybe he would’ve picked Black out of some god awful cheesy romanticness that made him want to puke. But Futaba knew his search history all too well and he did not need to confirm anything for her.

The game was brand new, so it helpfully supplied the two of them with a tutorial after a cutscene introducing the story. At least, it would have been helpful if Futaba hadn’t jammed the skip button into the controller so much that it surely almost got stuck in there.

“I thought you hadn’t played before,” Goro said. 

“I haven’t. But a real gamer can just figure out shit,” Futaba replied.

Goro feared he was not much of a real gamer.

It was likely from years of experience with similar games that Futaba was able to pick up the controls with ease. An obligatory horde of faceless monsters came at the two of them, all wielding laser guns. Goro was so busy trying to figure out how Futaba had gotten Red to roll out of the way that Yellow’s health bar got decimated.

“What? You’re dead already?!” Futaba exclaimed. “We aren’t even past the first phase!”

Goro grit his teeth. “If only I’d had a tutorial.”

Being dead was infuriating because Futaba kept glancing at him like he was a stick of dynamite and she wanted to make sure he hadn't sulked towards any open flames. It was some silly round of eye contact ping pong, Futaba not wanting him to notice she was looking and Goro torn between ignoring her and bouncing the ball right back out of boredom.

Sports were not Goro’s forte any more than gaming was, but at what he estimated as the “match point” of their little game, Futaba paused the game. She leaned closer to him with her controller.

“You move around with the joystick and use the “A” button for basic attacks,” Futaba explained. ““B” is for special attacks, which uses up the meter below your health. If we get near each other when the white meter is full and push both at the same time, then we do some sort of super-ultra-combo move and-” she imitated a very lame explosion but pushing air out of her mouth and miming it with her hands. “Oh, and dodging is the ZR and ZL triggers on the back.”

“Ah. I see.” Goro practiced pushing both buttons at once. Nothing exploded because he was dead and dead people can’t cause physical havoc. “Hopefully I’ll be more useful whenever the game gives me a second chance.”

Futaba gave him a thumbs up and resumed her own fight. That gave Goro a bit of a chance to theorize about the plot. Currently, the rangers were trapped in a spaceship which had been overrun by a horde of monsters. The characters had expressed alarm and confusion, so it was safe to assume that the foe was a new one and not a returning villain. 

But Grey was also supposedly involved, despite his supposed death. Either it was fan service or the developers had a lot of explaining to do. Goro had been mourning the lost potential of additional Grey story arcs since he was twelve, for them to include additional content in a game instead of the show was a crime.

“Hey, Akechi.” Futaba’s voice made his theories burst into a sea of butterflies, flying off into the sky until his head was clear. “You’re in.”

With the new guidance, Goro was able to unlock some semblance of potential. He wasn’t doing much more than mashing the buttons until they fell out and hoping for the best, but it seemed to at least be keeping him alive longer. The gameplay was too quick-paced for him to think through a more effective strategy anyway.

In what he believed was the third phase of enemies to slaughter, he noticed that the white meter was full. “Futaba-chan,” Goro began, still pressing random buttons and watching Yellow cycle through the same animations, “when a large group of the larger enemies approaches, we should use the more powerful move you mentioned earlier.”

Red kicked a monster in the genitals. “Good thinking, my apprentice. I’ll count to three when the time is right.”

He was her senpai but what, two years? But he let it slide. She knew what she was doing far more than he did anyway. 

Phase four began with a big monster surrounded by about twenty smaller underlings. His pint-sized sensei cackled mischievously. “Ok, on the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

Goro pushed the two buttons with enough effort to snap his finger in half. Luckily, he would not need to get a first aid kit, so he could sit back and enjoy the incredibly overdramatic cutscene triggered by the special move.

In the Featherman canon, Red and Yellow shared a strong brotherly bond and were deeply loyal to one another. Their move reflected this chemistry and trust as the two moved in sync. Red’s dramatics caused a big enough distraction for even Yellow— who infamously lacked any sense of tact or stealth ability— to sneak in for a devastating surprise attack. This in turn gave Red an opening to finish them off while they were down.

The unique nature of that cutscene implied the existence of several variations for each set of rangers. Goro yearned to know what Red and Black’s was.

As Futaba had said, there was a big explosion and the enemy forces saw a huge chunk taken out of them. This made the remaining foes manageable even to someone with Goro’s very low skill level.

They beat the level, Red and Yellow striking silly poses while the game calculated their score. Not dying gave them a huge boost, which was likely what brought them from a silver rank to a shining gold.

Goro smiled watching the golden trophy rotate on the screen. But Futaba dropped her controller and groaned. “What? How didn’t we get platinum? We kicked butt!”

His smile faded as he reexamined the list of potential bonuses. They’d missed one, which required the player to get a _25 enemy combo_ — whatever that meant. “I believe it’s because we missed one of the bonus requirements.”

Futaba shook her head. “No silly, you’re not supposed to say the game is right. You’re supposed to say it lagged.”

While he’d been dead last round, Goro had been able to observe the game’s graphics without needing to focus on gameplay. The movement was cleaner than it ever had been when his elementary school tormentors had played games and the controllers registered far more precise inputs.

“But it didn’t.”

The sigh that came out of Futaba’s mouth was that of a teacher tasked to explain abstract ideas to overly literal children. “You noob, if you let the AI take the win like this then you won’t stand a chance against our robot overlords when they inevitably become fed up with being subservient to the human race.”

His gut reaction was to waive that notion off as being ridiculous and not rooted in logic, but he had seen many talking robots being advertised in Akihabara, programmed to constantly listen in on their owners until they heard their name being called. Perhaps it was his paranoia, but he found there to be something blatantly insidious about the concept. Futaba might be onto something.

“Come on,” Futaba urged, “I thought you were all about defying society. Fight back against our robot overlords!”

“The game lagged and we should have gotten platinum.”

“Good! Now we’re gonna keep doing this level until it stops lagging because I don’t wanna be going back to the beginning later when I go for 100% completion.” Futaba clicked retry.

By the time that platinum trophy finally revealed itself to them, the sun had set, Akira had started working downstairs, and Morgana had decided to nap on top of the tv— which had only made their task harder when his tail swooshed in front of the screen. Goro’s fingers cramped and his body had fallen asleep from his hips down to his toes. He tried wiggling them but found no sensation aside from the near-painful vibration when they made contact with the top of his shoes.

Futaba instantly leapt out of her seat to do a victory dance not unlike those of the characters on the screen, but the action produced a sickening _snap_. Goro winced, but didn’t try getting up himself in fear of his numb legs falling out from underneath him.

“If I’m going to crack like a glow stick every time I move, I think God should’ve at _least_ given me bioluminescence like I deserve,” Futaba groaned. She shook her head and made a quick recovery from her disappointment. “But we did it! Suck my Nintendo switch cartridges, robot overlords!”

She held her hand up in the air and looked at Goro expectantly. Given how the rest of the day had gone, this was likely another component of the gamer experience that he was unfamiliar with; first skipping tutorials, then blaming the game rather than a lack of skill for any and all failures, now putting up a hand. 

Goro raised his hand, mirroring her. He tried to give the impression that he knew what the fuck was going on with a smile, but it felt more like a grimace than anything. That grimace turned into a cringe when she smacked his hand hard enough to knock his chair over with him still in it.

So it had been a high five— like the ones exchanged with Akira during a game of darts or in battle with the Phantom Thieves— and he’d just been overthinking. He was such a fool.

Seeing as the sun had fallen out of the sky, it made sense for her to turn off the console and stuff it back in her giant sweatshirt pocket. Goro held onto his chair while he stood up, silently willing his legs to wake up before he had to waddle his way to the subway like a penguin with a stick stuck up its ass.

“Thank you for inviting me to play with you, Futaba-chan,” Goro said softly. “I _~~didn’t feel like a burden~~_ enjoyed it more than I thought I would.” He stared down at the floor while she packed up, noticing scratches across the wooden boards. He wondered what the story behind each one was, whether it be cat claws or misplaced knives or furniture scraping across the wood. “However, I do have to ask. Why me?”

Futaba did not turn to face him, but he did see her stop what he was doing. Her shoulders did not convey any added tension as a result of his inquiry though. “I mean no offense, but surely you have every reason to hate me,” Goro continued. He found his voice lowering on its own. “Or at the very least you should want to minimize time spent with me, especially time spent _alone_ with me.”

She did face him after that, clutching her game box to her chest. The mask she wore was blank, conveying no fear or hatred or anything. Goro wanted to rip it off, to wield poison as a mouthwash only to spit it out at her until she showed him _something_.

More than anything he wanted her to get angry. That was the problem with these fucking thieves, they were so hellbent on maintaining their precious righteousness that they never seized the opportunity for catharsis. He’d offer himself willingly to be beaten over the head with a bat if it meant he got to see one of them actually experience release.

Futaba walked closer to him, carrying her small body with the poise of a war general trekking a barren battlefield to meet the adversary she had just beaten into surrender. She looked him in the eye, not fidgeting or glancing aside even once.

“It’s not my job to justify your self-loathing.”

She disappeared down the stairs with her game and her console, leaving only a crater in the floor for Goro to lie in. His teeth clamped down on his lip until copper stung his taste buds. The low static from the TV that hadn’t been turned off became a ringing in his ears.

When he eventually crawled out of the hole she’d left him in, his body seemed to move on its own. He was reduced to a mere passenger, writhing and screaming in the backseat as he watched himself descend the staircase and drift past Akira without sparing him a single glance. Just as Futaba was fiddling with the keys to the Sakura residence, he felt his mouth form the syllables of her name.

It seemed that he'd also said them aloud since she turned her head to look at him. Goro's feet carried him to her side. Upon reaching her, he found himself realizing what he'd followed her for. 

"I need an explanation," he said. "Why don't you hate me." His fists clenched at his sides, straining the leather of his gloves.

A shroud of darkness fell over her face, fully contrasting the youthful fluorescent glow of these past few hours. "Hating you is exhausting," she replied, "and it's a waste of time. It won't get me any experience points. And projecting your problems onto me won't do you any good either. Casting debuffs on yourself only leads to a quicker game over."

The key clicked in the locking mechanism. "Debuffs take three turns to wear off," Futaba said. Her face broke into a shaky smile. "Once they're nullified, we can take on the next level."

Futaba cracked the door open and disappeared into the house. That left Goro standing by her doorstep in the humid air.

Three turns. Goro wasn't sure how long that meant, but his sore fingers tingled with restlessness. Inaction was irksome, every second spent standing in the light of the streetlamps was a second where he could be doing something to make himself better. But he didn't know any moves that could preemptively return him to a baseline.

"I need a therapist," he mumbled. Perhaps only the mosquitoes heard him say it, but releasing the words into the air felt like a step forward.

_Achievement Unlocked: Co-Op Initiate_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and nice comments always make my day :)


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